They finally emerged from the cold, damp throat of the tunnel back into the main chapel. The transition from the suffocating air of the Vault to the vast, open space of the cathedral gave Julian a chance to breathe.

Alaric walked beside Julian, his boots thundering against the marble, his face set in a grim mask. He was still carrying Lucius, whose head was tucked into the crook of the Duke’s neck.

"I am going with you," Alaric stated, his voice echoing off the high, vaulted ceilings. It wasn’t a request; it was a command. "I don’t care how sacred this ’Sanctuary’ is. I’m not letting you out of my sight again."

The Pope stopped, his white robes swirling as he turned to face them. He looked at the Duke, then at the child sleeping in his arms. "The Sanctuary of the Star-Glass is the highest point of the Spire, Grand Duke. It is a place of absolute purity. Your presence alone is a strain on the sanctity of the ritual—and you are currently holding a child."

"My son goes where I go," Alaric snapped, his eyes narrowing. "And I go where Julian goes."

Julian reached out, his fingers brushing Alaric’s leather-clad arm. His touch was hot, a feverish heat that made Alaric flinch slightly in surprise.

"Julian, are you alright?" Alaric asked, alarmed, but Julian nodded.

"Yes, I’m fine, Lucien, but... look at him."

Alaric looked down. Lucius’ small features were pinched in exhaustion. The heavy, magical atmosphere of the Silent Vault had drained the boy completely. He wasn’t just sleeping; he looked crushed by the weight of the day.

"He needs to lie down," Julian said softly, his voice trembling from the effort of containing the energy in his chest. "He shouldn’t be there for this. I don’t know what’s going to happen up there, but I know it won’t be quiet."

"I’m not leaving you alone with him," Alaric repeated, his gaze flicking to the Pope with raw distrust.

"You aren’t leaving me," Julian promised, meeting Alaric’s eyes with a desperate intensity. "Put him to sleep. Lay him in a bed where he’s safe. Then... then come find me. I’ll wait for as long as I can."

Alaric hesitated, his jaw tight. He looked at Julian’s left eye, where the violet was now pulsing in a rhythmic, bruised light that matched the thrumming in the air. The Duke let out a jagged breath, finally realizing that Julian was right. Lucius couldn’t handle the climb to the Apex.

"If he is harmed," Alaric said, turning his lethal gaze toward the Pope, "I will pull this Spire down stone by stone."

"The boy will be safe in your quarters, Grand Duke," Clement said smoothly, though his eyes remained fixed on Julian. "Go. We shall wait at the threshold of the Star-Glass."

Alaric gave Julian one final, lingering look—a silent plea to be careful—before turning back toward the living quarters with Lucius held tight to his chest. Julian watched him disappear into the shadows of the corridor, feeling a sudden, sharp pang of isolation.

"A heavy burden, love," the Pope murmured, beginning the climb toward the crown of the Spire. "It makes the soul cling to the earth when it should be reaching for the stars."

Julian didn’t answer. He followed the Pope up a narrow, winding staircase that seemed to lead into the sky itself. By the time they reached the very top, his skin felt like it was on fire.

The Sanctuary of the Star-Glass was a massive circle of transparent crystal. It felt as if they were standing on nothing, suspended miles above the flickering lights of the White City. Above, the midnight sky was a deep, velvet blue, dominated by a moon that seemed twice its normal size.

In the center stood the jade statue of the God of Light, radiating a warmth that pulled at the warmth in Julian’s chest.

This place... was blinding even in the dead of the night, and it wasn’t because of the lights or anything like that, but... the presence here. It was radiating a lot of light, and Julian could feel it deep in his soul.

"This is where you shall speak to the source," the Pope said, his arms spread in a display of brilliant reverence.

Julian’s eyes widened in awe. He could definitely feel it. He could feel something warm syncing with the warmth in his chest. That pulling sensation, was it because this was the god of light’s sanctuary?

"This is where the connection is strongest," the Pope continued. "If you desperately wish to seek an audience with our Light and you are found worthy, you shall see the light. So kneel and send your heartfelt wishes to our god, and I pray you are heard."

"This is where the connection is strongest," the Pope continued, his arms spread in a display of brilliant reverence. "If you desperately wish to seek an audience with our Light and you are found worthy, you shall see the light. So kneel and send your heartfelt wishes to our god, and I pray you are heard."

Julian took slow steps forward. He didn’t know what he was doing, honestly. He was a tutor, not a priest, but the things he had been doing thus far—his actions, his good heart, the miracles—all of it felt like he had been given a purpose. That he was no longer just surviving this world, but helping it survive whatever was coming.

And so, he needed answers. Why me? Surely, there must be a reason why the Fallen God chose his soul in particular to be the spectator. There must be a reason why he had been given these powers.

Slowly, he knelt, the cold glass biting into his knees. There must be a reason why everything was revolving around him.

So please... He reached out with his mind, pleading for an answer. Show me the answers I seek.

Suddenly, a pillar of pure brilliance slammed down from the stars, passing through the dome and into his body. And in a split moment, the world disappeared.

When he opened his eyes, Julian was standing in a world of infinite whiteness, a big contrast to the dark void he had woken in before. In front of him, the light gathered into a shifting, formless presence that felt massive and weary.

"Welcome, Alias. I have been waiting for you."